


In which Tarvek takes a midnight jaunt

by Overlord_Bethany



Series: Always Send Knives [3]
Category: Girl Genius (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, Paris hijinks, Pre-Canon, but Tiffy is definitely Chief Minion material, don't get too attached to Fyodor ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 10:54:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15459786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Overlord_Bethany/pseuds/Overlord_Bethany
Summary: He hates it.





	In which Tarvek takes a midnight jaunt

A faint tapping sound stirred Tarvek out of confused dreams. He opened his eyes to unfamiliar shadows. His new rooms in Paris. Keeping his body still and his breathing even, he flicked his gaze around the bedroom. Each deeper pool of darkness seemed to contain a threat. What had he heard?

Again, three soft taps disturbed the stillness of his rooms. Deliberate. Some kind of signal? Someone wanting to be noticed? Now fully awake, his brain abuzz with possibilities, he gave the shadows greater scrutiny. Nothing showed any evidence of intrusion. All his traps remained unsprung. And yet…

There! Just beyond the foot of his bed, a sliver of reflection winked on glass. Tarvek took a fistful of the sheet, ready to use it as an improvised weapon, and he pushed himself back against the headboard.

A figure uncoiled from the darkness, rising into the faint light from the window. Tarvek registered a cap pulled low, with multispecs affixed to the brim, followed by a short jacket paired with jodhpurs. Adventuring clothing. How tedious.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said.

The intruder leaned forward over the foot of the bed and smacked an open palm on the mattress. “Get up,” Téofania St. Cyr said. “You have an appointment.”

Tarvek gawked at her. How had she stolen into his rooms without awakening him? Without triggering any of his traps? Without alerting the Smoke Knight who was currently easing out of the darkness right behind her?

Tarvek sighed. “Stand down, Fyodor.”

The Smoke Knight looked affronted, but he stopped and he stood at rigid attention. Ignoring Fyodor, Tiffy turned to the armoire and began to rifle Tarvek’s clothing. “Ugh, you _barely_ have anything suitable,” she complained, throwing a pair of trousers over her shoulder at the bed. “Silk? Velvet? _Satin?_ Not where we’re going, Your Highness.”

Smarting at the insult to his wardrobe, Tarvek held the sturdy work trousers at arm’s length. “And where is that?” A linen shirt hit him in the face.

“Your appointment. Honestly, why do men never listen?”

“What kind of appointment requires lab attire?” Tarvek jammed his legs into the pants, then reached for the shirt.

“Only the most important kind.” Tiffy tossed a charcoal jacquard waistcoat and his dark winter overcoat across the foot of the bed. Then she slammed the armoire closed and dusted her hands on her jodhpurs. “I can have this lot functional in two days, if you’d like.”

Tarvek scowled at her as he buttoned his shirt. “There’s nothing wrong with my clothes.”

Tiff clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Now we both know that’s not true.” She waved a hand at the closed armoire doors. “You’ve got plenty of pretty, expensive fabrics, but almost nothing that can stand up to a…” One shoulder lifted in a shrug. “A night on the town.”

Unbidden, an image flashed through Tarvek’s mind. Gil, amid a shower of debris, using his bare fist to crack open active machinery. “What, Holzfäller-style?” he scoffed. To his horror, Tiffy nodded.

“He has a pretty good grasp of how this city functions. Come on. We’re wasting moonlight.” She hauled the window open and hoisted herself through it.

Fyodor made a noise of disapproval. Privately, Tarvek agreed with him. Following strange women out of second-story windows in the middle of the night generally made for a spectacularly bad idea. He yanked the overcoat on and he stuck his head out the window.

“Where—”

He saw nothing below but the silent street. Looking to the side, he noticed a rope ladder dangling just beyond the windowsill. His gaze followed it upward. A machine shaped something like a hazelnut shell hulked above, clinging to the masonry by six articulated legs. The top of the pod hinged open, and Tiffy had strapped herself into one of its four seats.

“You’re slow, country boy,” she called to him, gesturing for him to hurry up the ladder.

Country boy! Scowling, Tarvek grabbed hold of the ladder and hoisted himself up to the pod. As he threw himself into the seat beside Tiffy, the ladder snaked up after him. He flinched as it slapped into place.

“Buckle up.”

Tarvek fastened the straps of the harness across his chest. “Where is this so-called appointment?”

Tiffy reached up and swiveled a pair of green lenses down from the brim of her cap. She threw a series of toggles on the control panel before them, and the top of the pod eased closed with a hiss. Tiffy tossed him a grin sharpened by proximity to Sparks and their machinations.

“Down.”

With a soft _ping_ , the transport unmoored itself from the side of the building. They plummeted toward the street.

Tarvek shrieked and clutched the sides of his seat. The pavement filled his view, rushing toward them with sickening speed. Then, suddenly, it stopped. The spidery legs of their craft had swiveled to break their fall. Tiffy twisted a dial and slammed a lever forward. The machine scuttled down the street.

“You must be a _treat_ to fly with,” she said, rolling her eyes behind the green glass of her multispecs. The vehicle jerked left, then right, then its front two legs prised open a hatch in the surface of the street, and they dropped through into some kind of chute.

“What _is_ this thing?” Tarvek demanded. He had not released his grip on his seat.

“Personal Over/Underground Delivery System,” Tiffy replied. “This one’s been modified.”

Tarvek noted how they bounced between the smooth walls of the chute. “Really? What are the ordinary ones like?”

“They don’t anchor to buildings, and the manual override requires a Spark.” Tiffy threw two toggles and slapped a large red button. With a jolt, the vehicle launched down a branching tunnel. “You won’t see many people using them these days, outside of Librarians, of course. The lanes run too deep, what with the Agurons and the Talpini at war. It makes most people skittish, traveling tunnels that might be collapsed at any turn.”

“I can see how that would put people off,” Tarvek said dryly.

The vehicle skidded to a halt before a pair of immense doors. The top of the pod sighed open, and Tiffy unfastened her harness. “Here we are.” She hopped down and strode right for the doors, leaving Tarvek scrambling to catch up.

Country boy.

Taking a breath to smooth the grimace from his face, Tarvek stepped up to the doors. Tiffy pushed one side open and stepped through.

Beyond, torchlight cast a warm glow over the stone that surrounded them. Tiffy raised the green lenses and surveyed their destination with satisfaction. A linteled entryway loomed ahead of them, the inscription across it reading “ARRETE! C'EST ICI L'EMPIRE DE LA MORT”.

“Seriously?” Tarvek said, balking. “This supposed appointment is in the _Catacombs?_ ”

Tiffy fixed him with a flat stare. “Is that a problem?”

He had seen worse things beneath Sturmhalten. “It’s unnecessarily dramatic, isn’t it?” He stepped through into the Empire of the Dead.

Tiffy made an amused noise. “You may not be so bad after all.”

The same golden torchlight filled the halls of the ossuary, bathing long bones and grinning skulls in a friendly glow. Tiffy led the way, and Tarvek kept close at her heels. The Master of Paris had made it clear that anyone meddling with the bones would be added to the collection, and Tarvek had little doubt that Sparks in general were unwelcome here. An itching in his brain urged him to stray, to take a closer look at some of the less human-looking skulls, but he kept his hands in his pockets and his feet on the path.

Tiffy strode with confidence through the corridors of stone and bone. Occasionally she pointed out a particular landmark, but most of the time she ignored Tarvek in favor of watching the shadows and moving quickly. What was she? Spy? Assassin? Chief Minion? Tarvek took small comfort in the certainty that Gil knew less than he did.

They rounded a corner, and another linteled doorway loomed before them. Tarvek had a sense of open space before they stepped through. His first impression in no way prepared him for what he saw.

The chamber was vast, lit by torches that twinkled like stars around its walls. Tarvek could catch no glimpse of the ceiling, but he guessed that the entirety of Sturmhalten could fit in this space, possibly with some of the tunnels below it as well. A row of torches formed an avenue leading right to the center of the chamber, where some sort of structure rose up into the darkness. Tiffy caught his arm and dragged him toward it.

“I suppose this is my appointment?”

As they neared the structure, Tarvek saw that it was a statue of some apparently undead abomination. While he gazed upward, trying to make sense of the jumble of emaciated limbs, a figure stepped out from behind it.

“Pardon the theatrics,” said the daughter of the Master of Paris. “I had to be certain you weren’t followed.”

“Followed?” Tarvek repeated rather stupidly, gawking in the dancing torchlight.

“By Smoke Knights?” Colette Voltaire turned an impatient stare on Tiffy, who held up both hands in a gesture of defense or surrender.

“He’s not impaired, Mademoiselle. Just easily startled.” She gave Tarvek a reproachful glance, as though startling easily dealt her a personal affront.

Colette nodded, her attention returning to Tarvek. “Consider this an entrance interview,” she said. “Three factions of your family recently made a very large mess in my city.”

Tarvek grimaced. He could well imagine who had been involved.

“I’m sure you know how introducing a new Spark to this volatile environment could be disastrous.” Colette gave Tarvek an expectant look, waiting for him to acknowledge that his family was hot garbage on fire. He sighed.

“If you think there’s any chance of them behaving like civilized—”

“No, of course not,” Colette interrupted, waving away the unfinished reply. “I’m more interested in what to expect from _you_. You’re here to tell me which faction has your allegiance.”

Tarvek could have lied. He should have lied. In perhaps the riskiest decision of his life so far, he drew a deep breath, and he told the truth. “I stand for the true heir to the throne.”

“Hm.” Colette met his gaze with a long, calculating stare. “Who is that, precisely?”

“Do you imagine he’d live terribly long if I went around telling people that?”

A broad smile broke across Colette’s face. “Good,” she said. “Follow the rules, keep out of trouble as much as a Spark of your station can, and I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time in Paris.”

Tarvek had his doubts. He remembered the long list of rules included in his enrollment paperwork, violation of which could lead to academic probation, expulsion, or worse. Then he thought of the rubble filling the street yesterday. “Wait—” He pointed at Tiffy. “Is she following Holzfäller around to make sure he’s following the rules?”

Colette arched an eyebrow at him. Was she impressed, or annoyed?

Tiffy gave a low whistle. “I don’t think _anything_ could keep that one from making a mess.”

“I’m sure you’ll find out eventually,” Colette said. “We’re not certain he’s stable.”

The words hit Tarvek like a bucketful of spider guts—clammy, sticky, and jarringly uncomfortable. “Why would Gil be unstable?” He pictured Gil’s bright smile, and he could not imagine it falling into Mad, malevolent cackling.

Tiffy reached over and gave his cheek a condescending pat. “So sweet,” she said.

“Because he Broke Through so young,” Colette said. She shook her head. “Tiffy, take Prince Sturmvoraus home. He clearly needs sleep.”

They took their leave of the Master’s daughter, and Tarvek followed Tiffy back out through the ossuary. His thoughts swam with this latest revelation, and he noticed neither artfully arranged bones nor impressive architecture. Gil had Broken Through young. How young? A week after they were parted? A month? A year? Perhaps he had meant something to Gil after all. Perhaps…

“You’re too quiet.” They had somehow gained the entrance already, and Tiffy hoisted herself up into the transport pod. “What are you worrying about now?”

Tarvek managed a half-truth. “Just wondering how an orphan who Broke Through too early managed to get into the university.” With reluctance, he buckled himself into a seat.

“Oh, his expenses are paid in full.” Tiffy’s smirk proved she knew the effect her tidbit of gossip would have. “Including some preemptive damage fees.”

Tarvek’s jaw dropped. “He has a _patron?_ How… _demimondaine!_ ”

It would be the Baron. Of course it was. If Gil was a strong Spark, which he must be, he would make a valuable addition to the Wulfenbach battery.

Tiffy laughed. “Hold tight to those delicate sensibilities, Your Highness.” She threw the row of toggles and slammed the throttle. The pod lurched forward.

So much for getting adequate rest before class.


End file.
